[i][center]*A collaboration with Raid, Peik, and TNY*[/center][/i]

A man commands a cluster of people to work. Shahid watches in wonder at the familiar sway of sea-men as they shoulder rucksacks of treasures consisting of maybe an extra shirt or a blanket or rusted dagger. Seeing some of Captain Sharkas’ crew among the men, he steps forward to follow them. Raphael, the only crew member who speaks French, beard has been shaved and his hair cut because it caught fire last night and burned away. Shadhid frowns. Maybe it's time he goes back to find his brothers? What if they get burned like Papa? 

This new Captain talks too fast and slurs his Portuguese so much that Shahid can’t understand him, but Sharkas has given lashings for lesser offenses than walking away in the middle of his speech. Instead Shahid pokes the man next to him and uses to local language to ask, “My brothers, have you seen them? They must come with us to Rabat.”

''Where there is abundance, there is also corruption.'' Abdulhayy Mahmud took this proverb to heart. He could see proof for it everywhere. Here in the courtyard, there were a lot of people. It would be hard to say that they were nice people. It was not about their professions, but their demeanor. Most, if not all of them carried a glint of hate or disgust in their eyes. Not against people, but everything in general. It was hard not to feel sad for these people. Now, whatever solace they had in their lives was also gone. He could remember a guardsman in the ramshackle infirmary, who had lost an arm and a leg. Having lost his body, he had also lost his source of income. Such a sight was not uncommon to Hata'i, but it still felt sad. Yet such was God's degree. ''Mu'izz, Muzill.'' As he recited these names to himself, a young man appeared, next to a person whose mere presence disgusted Hata'i. The young man first addressed a bunch of sailors, and then, the crowd. It was a job. Those hired were to go on a journey to the Barbary Coast. No details. Laughable. It was obvious that this was a matter concerning the Dragon. He knew well that it was not the Sazakhan - there was no storm yesterday. And he was still alive. But it was something like it nonetheless. Before he could say anything (not that he would say anything), a man voiced his concerns about the voyage, asking whether it was about the Dragon or not. The man was promptly stomped into the ground. Words were weapons. Just now, they were used as a maul. And then started the young man. His words were somewhat humorous. His words were also full of bullshit.

As expected, once more, it was punishment for the townsfolk's sins, and not something else. He did not like Catholics. It had grown too large, lost its touch, sincerity. It was no more than a tool now. He did not want to be here anymore. It appeared that he had another ship to catch before sailing for the New World. Then he got poked in the stomach. Instantly, he turned his head to the source - it was a young boy. Didn't look like a native. “My brothers, have you seen them? They must come with us to Rabat.” Finally, Hata'i faced something he did not want to get away from. ''What will you do in Rabat, boy?'' Hata'i asked. The kid looked scared. ''Let's find your brothers first.''

Shahid wrinkles his nose. What type of question was that? Wasn't it obvious as to why he needed to go to Rabat? It is home. Prehaps his pants are drawn too tight about his waste or his hat on his head? (Shahid cranes his neck up to make sure this man is in fact wearing a hat but he fails to see over the man's belly.) Pressing his lips together, he forces out more Portuguese, "Have you seen them. I will get them on my own. They are mine--" he pauses a moment and looks down at his feet. He's still wearing cloth slippers from last night. He hopes his good leather shoes are with his brother's too. "I must get my brothers on my own." He decides and tells the man the same. He doesn't add that he is saving face in case his mother does catch him wandering around without the twins. 

''Something wrong with the kid,'' Abdulhayy Mahmud thought. Maybe it was just him being a kid. Nonetheless, Hata'i felt somewhat obliged to help. ''Have it your way then, boy. I can help if you need any, however.'' He tapped on his own shoulder. ''I've got a good vantage point over here.''

Sighing, Shahid tries to bring forth all the adjectives he would use to describe what his brothers look like for the man. "They are small," he begins. "Two of them, but the same." He doesn't know the word for twin. Captain Sharkas never taught it to him. He wished he did. He wished he did many things before he went and got himself killed. But Shahid is still grateful for his sacrifice. After all, the Captain saved his mother. What other words can he use to describe his brothers? Isn't small sufficient? He curses in Berber. (Something he also learned from the Captain, but it was his club-footed father that taught him not to say it infront of his mother.) "Babies, two babies. The same," he repeats. "And, and, and..." He shrugged his shoulders and huffs. "Stupid. They know just Arabic." Needing to proove to this stranger that he is not related to complete imbeciles who spend a majority of their time sucking on their thumbs and getting hurt, Shahid adds, "But I will show them others. You see."

It's fun to watch this kid. Maybe it's because he's the only person in the area that doesn't come off as dislikeable. Maybe it's because Hata'i hasn't interacted with a kid for a while. Maybe it's because Hata'i is bored and somewhat frustrated after his near-death experience. Or maybe the kid's just fun to watch. ''Two of them, but the same.'' That meant that there were three possibilities - either that the kid was giving him cryptic and divine information, or his brothers were simply twins, or both. Abdulhayy Mahmud hadn't noticed any twins - he had been taken by guards to the Palace after he was saved from the basement. He was still a bit dizzy. The kid spat out something in his native tongue. He had heard it being used as a swear before. In any case, he wanted to clear it up - the kid's brothers were twins, they were small. And apparently, they were stupid. It was probably unfair to call kids stupid, but he wasn't going to call out a kid on doing something kids would do. ''I haven't seen them.'' Abdulhayy Mahmud said to clear it up. ''But, as I said, I can help.'' He reached out a hand to the child. ''What do you say?''

Shahid squints at the stranger, appraising his sooty clothing and pudgy face. He leans back on his heels and clicks his tongue to mimic Captain Sharkas' demeanor as he would do if calculating the benefits of a deal. His father would say that no man should put the trust in another unless he knew his name first. Captain Sharkas says you can only ever trust strangers. Shahid forgets to remember what his mother would say about strangers. 

But like all mothers, she has a knack for showing up when a child might least want her to be there.

"Shahid." It is said in the tone that makes his pupils go wide and his mouth go slack. Any swagger disappears and the fat of his face curls into lines of horror. "Shahid." She repeats. She does not shout. Esra Gad El Rab does not do something so unseemly. But what need does she have to do that when he know, just [I]knows[/I], how upset she is? Each brother holds their mother's hands and his sister's button nose raises in the air as she peeks over Esra's shoulder to see what's going on. 

Shahid opens his mouth but his mother looks down at him over her hooked nose, and he knows no amount of excuses or promises will get him out of this one. Instead he points at the Captain through the crowd and says to his mother in Arabic, "This man is going to Morocco. We must too, go with him." His eyes drift over her djellaba. It was a present from Captain Sharkas' first wife. Blue like the flowers that grow at the base of the mountains in Rabat and with orange embroidery one of his grandmothers added over the years. He didn't like the dark stains all over her front from tending patients. He wonders which stains belonged to his club-footed father and which one belonged the Captain Sharkas as they bled and died. Deena fists the qob or the hood at the back of the djellaba like a blanket. Only his mother's scarf, black like her hidden hair, looks undisturbed. 

Emillio felt a certain warm relief wash over him as the crowd's curiosity turned from wanting answers to wanting to get this over with. People shuffled along to the ship yard, only a sparce few stopping to speak with Luna or eachother. Then, a highpitched proclimation emerged from somewhere deep in the centrifugal neucleus of the wanning crowd. It's curvy, ethereal form could only be Arabic, so Emilio smiled. It'd been a long time since he heard the language so casually, so emancipated. Emilio and his father had used the language, durring their short time together, in order to speak seceratively to each other. Most of the crew at that time were either well established Portuguese militants or freshly recruited Jamaican pirates; almost none of them spoke Arabic fluently. 

So, very briefly, there was a flashback to dry summers along the mediterranean and those cool springs in Puerto Rico. Emilio sauntered through the crowd toward the boy, moving a man out of the way as he did. 

"Didn't your father ever teach you not to point?" Emilio asked the boy with a smile, his Arabic was surprisingly fluent. He beckoned the boys mother while setting his other hand on the boy's head. "Are you of Morocco? We need someone with familiarity of the layout and customs. It pays well and we'll welcome your children." The pirate smiled, finally able to be honest. 

Shahid grins. Arabic. His second favorite language. "Rabat is my home," he says, switching automatically from the stunted Portuguese to his flowing, native tongue. "I can show you the best places to watch the ships come into port and where you might pay a little more for better stew. Captain Sharkas says I know--" 

"Shahid." His mother grabs his shoulder, pulling him back from this Captain. "You leave your brother's alone, but you have no problem making friends with strangers," she mutters. Deena pulls at her mother's scarf. 

She glances at these men, but then fusses about with her children so not to seem rude for not meeting their eyes. Samy's eyes never leave his mother's, but his hand is shoved in his mouth. A poor habit he had all through childhood that Esra tried to break him of. Spit makes his knuckles shine. Ahmad glowers at the men. A crusted cut arches over his forehead. [i]His injury could have been much worse.[/i] Esra remembers the wound that killed her husband. Much worse. And she knows it can get much worse from here. A single Muslim women in a predominantly Catholic country, not to mention one that has too many Spainards for her likes.

"My family gets our own cabin," she says, looking at this man who claims himself to be a Captain. "I will work as a nurse on the ship." Her eyes shift over the remaining people in the courtyard. Wives with back pain or mother's with the after-birth blues. Those are the people she knows how to care for. She pulls at the straps of Deena's basket. She will learn how to care for men, too. "While you're in Morocco I will help, but I will go no further after that. These are my terms," she insists.

Shahid bounces on his toes. 

Emilio nodded along with the Moroccan mother. He bowed to her with a playful smirk. As he returned to his normal stance he spoke in his native tounge, "Saude". 

Easily, and casually, he slipped back into Arabic, "Follow, please" he said, slyly eying the mother then her adventerous boy. Shahid, as he was called, said a name earlier, "Captain Sharkas". Emilio recognized it but could not apply a face to it. Perhaps he was a character in one of his father's intricately woven stories, but there was no time to recall those memories now. 

Emillio waved everyone left in the courtyard to follow him to the harbor. The cream-colored, stone floor ran under an archway which yielded to a brimming garden bluff, and a dirt path, which led down to the side of the hill and eventually to the wooden harbor below.

The boat that was being hastily loaded with all sorts of equipment, and which Luna signaled as their own, was a slim galleon. Sure, it was as sleek as could be, and probably sliced through the water like a hot knife to butter, a credit to Portuguese ship-making, but it also looked sturdy. It's sides were reinforced with metal linings and barrings and the wood seemed fresh. The canvas, even now, bellowed at the eager wind. It was just small enough to fit in port, but big enough to make many pirate vessels think twice about messing with it. It's two rows of cannons were another assurance. Emilio smirked and left Luna with whatever official policy he was citing. Emilio snapped along the docks, leaving everything behind him exactly where it was, and practically jumped onto the loading ramp. "Thank heaven," he said to himself in spanish, "I've finally got a damn ship again."

For a moment the Dread Captain concidered that only hours ago he was destined for death, or more torture at the least. The best damn thing that ever happened was that Dragon attacking. Emilio didn't know what the Dragon wanted, and it was clear that he was looking for something now that Emilio knew the truth, but it wasn't quite his business anyway. Even if Emilio wasn't scared shitless of the magics the papacy had revealed to him through brute force, there was no doubting his need to explore, his desire to slay another one of these unnatural beasts. The first time was sudden, so indeliberate. This time he'd be prepared, this time he'd be [b]face-to-face[/b] with a fearsome beast like no other. And, either it's life or his would be ended that day, but, without a doubt, Emilio would at last have honor.

[i]And isn't that what all men truly want?[/i] Emilio let out a puff of air and chuckled at his hidden desperation, his secret desire. 

Emilio took in a deep breath and turned from the bay ahead of him to the docks behind him. The last of the resrouces and equipment was just being delivered so he lifted his hands into the air, whistled that piercing whistle yet again, and spoke clearly into the dusty sea air. "Everyone joining on the expedition come aboard! Hear what your Captain has to say!" Which a childlike energy but the swagger only harvested after years of experience Emilio headed to the upper platform, stopping along the way to order a sailor to gather everyone below deck. Once up there Emilio grasped at the banister and watched as the people came aboard. What a rush it was to finally lead again?! But, how frightening a proposition it was to do so whilst lying to everyone. He didn't know how long that would last, but he hated the nagging hope he had that maybe everyone wouldn't survive the journey; so, petty lies might not bother that many people. His head swam with this fear, even as he was ready to speak. 

"Hold your bother's hand," Esra commands. Shadhid obeys, grinning at Samy all the same. "We're about to go on a more grand adventure than when we did with Captain Sharkas," he confides in his younger brother. He skips along, not listening to what's being said and content to kick a rock along the road. 

As the taste of salt becomes heavier on her tongue, Esra walks slower, until her family trails behind the majority of people making their way to port. [i]What about our belonging?[/i] She thinks as they pass the smoking remains of the market. The skeletons of stands and faces crowd to watch the procession. [i]What am I doing?[/i] She rubs at her stomach where the baby pushes through. 

She uses Shahid's shoulder as balance as she shuffles up to the deck of the ship. After four years of sailing on the same ship and under the same man, she holds the railings tight. It's not because her legs don't know how to adjust with the dipping of the ship, but because the wood is stained too dark and curves in the wrong places. Shahid doesn't notice these difference. He zones in on this new Captain with his jolting mannerisms. Captain Sharkas is always so smooth and deliberate with his movements. Shahid pauses. Was. Captain Sharkas was.

"Welcome aboard, one and all. Some of you may know me, by one name or antother, but for those who don't, let it be known: I run a tight ship, tighter than your dear mother's twat, that's for sure." There was a stupid, resounding laughter from the sailors. Feed them a roll a day and Emilio would have them heeltoeing in no time. All sailors were the same. "I also like to have a good time. But we are on a mission, on behalf of poor Sintra. Some of you may know me for running Pirate ships, let it be known that this is not one. And, though it looks like a military vessel, it is not one of those either. My word is law, but I accept criticism and advice. What I will not accept is betrayal. I have a certain bias against conniving snakes at this point in my life, so be forwarned." Luna, at this point, had made his way up to the platform with Emilio. It was ironic, to say the least, how he was in place as Emilio discussed snakes. And perhaps it wasn't entirely coincidence. "We have woman and children aboard, so you scalawags ought to be on your best behavior," he said, clearly favoring the sailors and some of the other men for this comment. "Drink as you will be certain that when I ask you to sober up I mean for it it happen immediately." Luna whispered something into Emilio's ear, the Captain nodded and returned to the crowd. "We're going to Mogador, also known as Essaouira. We don't expect much Berber interference, but we should always be careful. So, I am..."

A voice came from one of the men below, a battle-scarred decendant of the Incan Empire, Emilio knew him well. Epunamun was his name, and he wore his straight black hair in a Mohawk. His voice was rusted and hard, "Emilio Cicatrise," he said. Emilio met his former friends gaze, saw that he was accompanied by another familiar face, a full bearded Englishman by the name of Leonard Comstock. Emilio was struck with the painful memories of his exile from his own boat. 

He was tied up and pushed onto the banister of the ship, made to balance. As he looked behind him he saw his crew staring in a certain sad disbelief. Almost no interest in stopping the madness. These two faces were among them, just as submissive. 

Emilio jumped from the platform suddenly, landing and rolling froward into the crowd. He drew his scimitar in one single motion and grabbed at Epunamun's collar. Both the Incan and the Englishman reacted calmly by holding off Emilio's potential sword strike. 

"We left!" Epunamun yelled in Spanish, the preferred language between the friends. 

"Emilio stop! We were utterly against the whole business, man!" Leonard chimed in. "Sure we were allowed to row the boat onto shore but we were exiled all the same. We wanted to find you, to join you again."

"We are loyal to you! Damn it, don't you know that?!" Epunamun yelled, releasing himself from Emilio's weakening grasp. The Dread Captain sheathed his sword as he ran the testimony and facts through his mind as well. Why else would they be here? Besides, he trusted these men. Something vile and dark erupted in him as he jumped over that banister. He was happy it was quelled by friendly hearts. 

Emilio was silent for a second, but then nodded. "Of course," he said. Emilio shook his old friend's hands and then addressed the group. "Alright, nothing to see here" He said in Portuguese, "I don't know what the official name of this vessel is..."

Luna, who was leaned over the platform banister incredulously, piped up, "[i]Padre Etemo[/i]". He was swiftly ignored. 

"We can call it [i]A cadela queimada[/i]" Emilio said with a smile. Some of the people in the crowd laughed. "Alright, let's get this boat in working order" Emilio said with a confident slickness. He turned to Esra, and still not knowing her name, spoke to her in a quiet Arabic, "Please, ma'am, go below deck and find a place for yourself and your family. This man will assist you" he said referring to Epuinamun. "Epu," Emilio said to the large brown man, easily switching to Spanish, "escort this woman below deck. Then come back up, I have some ideas for you." 

Emilio winked to Shahid, knowing this boy would be bring some joy to the journey, and scratched his little head, then walked off to speak with one of the sailors. It was a little past noon, if they worked fast enough they could leave at sunset.